The Missing Man
by cupofhearts
Summary: Molly's stepbrother went missing, only to reappear dead in his own flat. A little extra mystery for Sherlock and John to solve happening sometime before The Reichenbach Fall
1. Chapter 1

A dark shadow hides behind the corner of the building. It watchfully prowls along the wall as a taxi arrives, dropping off its last passenger for the night.

"Thanks for the lift. Oh, no problem. Yes, you too, have a good night!"

The man slams the door shut then stumbles along as he searches for the key to his flat. Heading towards the door, he spots someone to his right.

"Hello there," the shadow says as it emerges in the dim light. The man squints his eyes, not quite able to make out the face.

"Um, hello? Who are you? You sound just like. . . ."

His mysterious visitor grins.

"Yes, I bet you weren't expecting to see me ever again, especially since that last time. Hello Oscar."

* * *

John was typing up a new post on his blog again, and the incessant clacking noise was beginning to get on Sherlock's nerves. He closed his eyes for the thousandth time, trying to focus. He breathed calmly, inhaling then exhaling, inhale, exhale, inha. . . . .

"John."

"Hmm?" John didn't look up from his computer screen, constantly tapping away at the keyboard.

"John, will you _stop _with that noise please."

"What? Why?" He looked up rather puzzled, but Sherlock continued to talk with his eyes closed, ignoring him.

"Because I'm trying to _think._"

"About what?"

Sherlock raised a finger. "Not 'about what', John. I'm trying not to think about how bored I am."

"Mhmm. . . ." John went back to typing. "And is it working?"

"NO!" Sherlock jumped up suddenly and began pacing the floor. "_No _John, it's not working and I really must say, _I wonder why?_" He stared pointedly at John's fingers and his laptop. John didn't look up at him.

"Sherlock, just um, go check the newspapers or something. I'm busy."

"With _what?_" Sherlock made a point not to look at John either when he went and picked up a newspaper.

"I have to write the post about our last case. My girlfriend likes it."

"Oh, she likes your weak sentence structure and poor vocabulary choice? That's a surprise."

"Hey, I don't have . . . whatever." Sherlock just nodded in response as he scanned the papers. Boring, boring, mostly everything boring.

Except. . . .

"Listen to this," he said, hanging the paper in front of John's face. "'_A man who was reported missing last month has suddenly reappeared dead in his own apartment.'_ A man named Oscar Colchester." _Oscar Colchester?_

"John, does that sound familiar to you?"

"Mmm, no. Not really. Will you move that newspaper away from my screen now?"

"Hm." Sherlock paused. "Then why does it sound familiar to me?"

_Beep beep. _

**'Could you please come to the morgue? It's important. – Molly'**

"John, it looks like we might have another case on our hands."


	2. Chapter 2

It didn't take them very long to get to Bart's, and nobody was in the lab except Molly when they arrived.

"Molly, please tell me you've got something interesting to show me or I will have to return to the flat with John and his irritating blog." Sherlock strode in ahead of John who just rolled his eyes and greeted her with a nod.

"Well, this corpse came in very recently. His name is Oscar Colchester, he was found dead last night –"

"After being reported missing a month ago." Sherlock interrupted.

"Um, yes. So you read the article?"

"Oh I had no choice, someone told me to go check the papers." John sighed, but all the consulting detective did was ignore him.

"Yes, well," Molly continued, "he was found dead last night, but when I inspected the body, I found out that someone tried to preserve him."

"Preservation? What kind?"

"Refrigeration. The body was below room temperature when they found it, meaning he was preserved."

"So it wasn't just a disappearance and then suicide." _Interesting._

"No, it wasn't. But the funny thing is, Oscar's door was locked – the door to his flat – and he never. . ."

"Oscar." Sherlock's brow creased as he thought of something. He tilted his head. "Oscar Colchester . . . oh of course! Oscar Colchester, _that's _why it sounded familiar!"

Sherlock turned to Molly. "He's your stepbrother."

"Her _what?_" John asked, but Molly just nodded quietly.

"Yes, he's my stepbrother."

"Well, and you just . . . I mean," John looked incredulous. "You just dissected him?"

"Um, yes . . . sort of." Molly looked down at her hands. "I never really liked him anyway. He used to take my dolls and cut them up with scissors."

"You had dolls?"

"Is that why you work in the morgue?" John asked.

Molly just gave them both a glare.

"Well now, that's a nice little fact to know. Moving on, who was it tha – "

"So you knew where he lived." John said quietly.

This time they both looked at him.

"Yes? I knew where he lived." Molly answered.

"And you knew all his habits, and where he went. You could have phoned him or," John shrugged. "Or something. Asked him to meet you."

"John, where are you going with this?" Sherlock's eyes were looking wary now, but his friend didn't stop.

"I mean, it's not like she liked him or anything. And she has a whole morgue full of refrigeration units, which could probably be us–"

"I didn't kill him!" Molly yelled, suddenly aware of what John was implying.

"But you dissected the man without a second thought! I mean, you cut up a family member– "

"John, just shut up for a second. Stop talking." Sherlock's look warned John not to say anything further and he stood still while Sherlock turned to Molly.

"I didn't do anything, I swear I wouldn't . . ." the specialist registrar looked nervously up at Sherlock.

"Yes Molly, I know you didn't do it. Please ignore my idiotic colleague." He then casually turned his attention back to the corpse as if nothing had happened. "Now as I was asking, I wanted to know wh-"

"How do you really know?" Her voice barely a whisper, Molly wrung her hands. "He's made some very good points. I didn't do it but . . . or do you just really trust me?" She said the last bit with a nervous laugh.

Sherlock sighed. "Molly Hooper, I know you didn't do it because you're not an idiot, you're not the killer, and most importantly . . ." He paused to look her in the eye. "You work in the morgue. You would know how to dispose of bodies better than anyone. If you were the killer, you wouldn't make the mistake of placing the body back in the flat while it was still below room temperature and then 'pretend' to find the body yourself."

John gave them another puzzled look. "Wait, how did you know. . . . _she_ discovered the body?"

Sherlock turned and looked at John as if he had momentarily forgotten he was there. "Earlier, Ms. Hooper here naturally assumed that I read the story in the papers, although judging by the dark circles under her eyes," he gestured towards her face, "she hasn't taken a break all night. How would she know about the morning papers? To explain that, she was also aware of a very trivial fact: the locked door to Oscar's flat. All this meaning that she was at the crime scene last night, most likely not with the police force (because they've got daft old Anderson) and therefore she is the one who discovered Oscar's body. Make sense?" John opened his mouth. "Good."

"Now, for the last time before I'm interrupted again, Molly Hooper, _who _was the last person to have seen your brother before he disappeared?"

"T-the taxi driver. He has a friend who's a taxi driver named George. They went out drinking that night, and Oscar had left his wallet in the taxi. George went back the next day to give it to him, but nobody answered when he rang, and so after a few days he reported him missing." Molly looked down at the body. "And now this."

"And why were you at his flat?" John asked, somewhat puzzled.

"I've actually been hoping he would come back . . . during the month . . ." She didn't meet his gaze.

Sherlock also looked somewhat puzzled. "And why is that?"

Molly fiddled with the sheet covering her dead stepbrother. "He . . . he had something belonging to me. That my dad left me." She looked up. "Actually, I met him a month ago and asked for it back. He disappeared after that. It was just my mum's necklace. I don't know why he couldn't give it to me."

"Maybe it's a valuable necklace." He didn't know much about jewelry, so John just half shrugged.

"Oh yes, probably." She looked down again and said quietly, "Worth 400 thousand euros according to my dad's will . . ."

Silence. As Sherlock continued to inspect the body, John gave an impressed whistle.

"God that's an expensive necklace. I can see why someone would kill for that."

"Molly, what's the cause of death?" Sherlock asked, finished with his inspection.

"It's strangely hard to say . . . analysis will take a while so I might have some results in a day or two. But it seems to be some sort of organ failure . . ."

"Good enough. I expect to see those results soon." The consulting detective began to leave, then suddenly turned back. "Oh yes, and I'm sorry for your loss."

"Um, yes, thank you." Molly smiled a bit. "And before you go, would you . . ."

With John trailing behind him, Sherlock strode briskly out of the morgue.

". . . like to have some coffee."

The specialist registrar sighed, standing beside the body of her stepbrother.

"Yes Oscar, it's always been like this."


End file.
